 I know she must think she's performing some valuable function—like maybe protecting the house from those three Girl Scouts at the front door who are only pretending to sell us cookies when what they really want to do is break in and steal all the Milkbone Flavor Snacks!
But Casey's barking is driving us crazy!
Casey is our 6-year-old black lab who's not really a black lab. We adopted her at one of those rescue places, and we knew then that she wasn't actually a pure black lab, but that was OK with us because we figured she wouldn't get so big. She hasn't—but she's still about 40 pounds of black lightning, with the thunder to match.
Little did we know at the time that her bark would definitely be 100 percent black lab. She has a medium-sized dog body with a big dog bark, and she loves to show it off.
It was actually sort of cute when she was a puppy, and somewhat reassuring to think that maybe she would become a pretty good watchdog.
Ding-dong. Bark, bark, bark.
"Look at that," I'd say. "Someone rang the doorbell, and Casey's protecting the house. Isn't that cute?"
But it's grown old very quickly.
Ding-dong. Bark, bark, bark.
"OK, Casey, I hear it," I'd say, rising to answer the door. But she wouldn't stop.
And now she barks every time she hears a bell ring.
Ding-dong. Bark, bark, bark.
"Quiet, Casey, that's just on television," says the oldest.
Ding-dong. Bark, bark, bark.
"Uh, Casey, I don't think you have to bark just 'cause I started the computer," says the youngest.
Ding-dong. Bark, bark, bark.
"Casey, you idiot," I'll bark, "that's just the microwave!"
I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if she only barked when she heard a bell ring. But she just doesn't know when to quit.
She barks when the doorbell rings. She barks when our friends walk into the house. She barks five minutes later when they're sitting in the family room. And she barks 15 minutes later when they get up to use the bathroom!
It's not just when our friends come to the door, though. Now she barks anytime she hears anyone at the front door.
Our other dog, the golden retriever, knows I'm home as soon as he hears the car pull into the driveway.
He greets me at the front door with a slobbery welcome every night as soon as I step into the entry way, then he wanders off to go calmly about his own business (sleeping, usually, or maybe sniffing the kitchen floor for crumb or two the youngest might have dropped while preparing his pre-dinner snack).
Casey, on the other hand, starts barking wildly as soon as my keys jingle outside the front door.
"Someone's there! I'd better warn the family! Bark, bark, bark."
"Casey, be quiet," says the youngest, "It's just Dad."
Her barking intensifies with the sound of the keys sliding into the lock.
"He's trying to come in! This'll stop him! BARK, BARK, BARK!"
"Casey, a prowler wouldn't have keys to open the front door!" adds the youngest. "It's just Dad."
Then as the door opens ... bark, bark, bark, bark!
"CASEY, BE QUIET!" he screams.
And she does, as soon as she sees it's me and not Ted Kaczynski.
But then comes the hello greeting. And it's nothing like the retriever's friendly slobbery kiss. No, this is truly the dance of joy! She hops wildly, spinning circles as she leaps, trying to lick and bite me simultaneously to let me know just how thrilled she is that it was me at the door and not some intruder.
(Actually, it's just about the same greeting that occurs when she comes back into the house after going outside—"You've only been out there for five minutes!" I'll try to explain, but she doesn't listen ... she's too busy doing the dance of joy.)
Then last Sunday morning the doorbell rang. It was 10 a.m. No one else was around, so that meant answering the door was up to Casey and me.
She was barking loudly as I peeked through the peep hole to see who it was. No one I recognized, just a nicely dressed family with Bibles in their hands.
I opened the door to greet them, and Casey began barking even more wildly than normal.
"Good morning," they said. "We'd like to give you ... uh, what a, um, cute dog. She's not dangerous, is she?"
"Oh, n ..." I started to say. But then I caught myself saying, "Well, to tell you the truth, we were planning to go out today to get one of those 'Beware of Dog' signs to put out here to warn people about her. We just never know ... "
Before I could finish, they had turned on their heels and with a quick, "Have a nice day," they were on the way down the driveway.
Hmm. Maybe this barking business isn't all that bad after all.
Want to talk? Call me at 408.354.3110, ext. 31, or drop me a note at dsparrer@svcn.com.
|
